Tale Of The Three Sinners
by NamelessForNow
Summary: Nothing more is carved on these gravestones. Only names. "Eddie Dombrowski". "Angela Orosko". "James Sunderland." Oneshots.
1. If You Find This Place

**Disclaimer:** I OWN SILENT HILL!!!

BYYYYYYE, KONAMI, CLIMAX and DOUBLE HELIX! :ppp

He-he-he. A 1st April joke.

**A/N: **I love a certain place in Silent Hill 2 VERY much. It's a cemetary with the pretty familiar names on the gravestones - for Eddie, Angela and James. Here I feel the true power of this Japanese masterpiece. It has some like a magic impact on me. Unforgettable 's why the following was created.

* * *

Somewhere under the Toluca Prison there is a small сemetary. If you ever find this place...

Well, actually, it's doubtful you will find it...

But if you find, look closely. A lot of names, a lot of life stories are hidden here.

These people have been neither too happy nor much miserable.

Why happy? Because some of them have known love, friendship, money and other things that tend to make a human happy.

But also they have experienced the bent for destruction.

They have destroyed someone they knew, they loved, they valued, they despised. And they destroyed themselves as well.

They were the usual murderers.

...Anyway, if you ever visit this place, look for the left corner. For the three certain graves.


	2. The First Gravestone

There would be no more of this.

Nothing of this.

No her tears.

No his despair.

No her damned cough.

No his sleepless nights.

No love and hatred that were ripping their souls apart.

Nothing.

Only a pillow in his hands he was still squeezing.

In a minute he would stand up, move his eyes around semi-madly semi-sleepy, meet her face for a last time and walk away.

To sleep. In a minute he would realize how much time for sleeping he had missed.

Then he would wake up. And then he will come back.

At that moment he didn't knew. But a part of his consiousness had already known he would to return to that place.

To a town Silent Hill that had made him happy. To the town that had destroyed his happiness forever.

And her face would remain before his eyes as a dim image.

Like on the videotape.

Until the certain moment.


	3. The Second Gravestone

For the first time in many years she enjoyed something.

It was a sight of blood...

...No, it wasn't that scarlet thick liquid we used to call blood.

It was poison.

It poisoned himself, his thoughts, his needs and his love.

_Love._

She grinned.

Since certain time Daddy started to confuse_ father's _love...and another kind of love.

Dirty and poisoned. Something that can't be called that word - _love._

_Where that poison has come from_, she asked herself once in a while.

And understood the search for a question would not help her.

And she needed help.

_Somebody save me from that monster_, she screamed without words.

_Put him away._

_Arrest him._

_...Kill him._

She always had had a bad sleep. After that thought she couldn't sleep at all. She hadn't had appetite. She stopped eating at all. She had been laconic in her speech. She became almost nonverbal.

Finally she got tired.

And took a knife in her hand.

...And she felt one more enjoyable thing.

A cold caress of an edge to her skin.

Now she wanted only one thing - to find Mom.

And not to leave her. Never.


	4. The Third Gravestone

After all, he _hated _animals.

He hated all the living beings at that moment.

That fuckers weren't worth their shitty lives.

Who had given them a right to open their mouth?

To say such words to him?

To laugh like they were in a fucking _circus_?

Was he a fucking clown for them?

Hadn't they watched any horror films?

Clowns were ones of the best killers.

Haven't they been taught to be afraid of _a clown_?

They were like that dog.

Curious. Stupid. Wagging their tales while it wasn't needed.

And it didn't matter the dog was the first.

He never enjoyed the animal performances in the circus.

Because they thought he was more stupid than that animals. They didn't told him but he knew.

They called him _a pig_.

But a pig appeared to be not just a fat rasher of bacon.

A pig had a revolver.

A man was approaching him, screaming and using pretty foul language. Probably a master of that dog.

Without any thoughts he pulled the trigger.

_Come on, squeal from pain like your dearest doggie._

Now he was a spectator...and he liked a performance.


End file.
